


Butterfly Mornings

by VespidaeQueen



Series: The Gravity Well [10]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VespidaeQueen/pseuds/VespidaeQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early on in their relationship, Anders and Hawke wake up next to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the DA kmeme: Hawke and his/her lover wake up.

 Anders normally wakes before her, rising and leaving before the sun is fully up. He has a clinic to get to, and there will be patients inevitably waiting for him there. This morning, however, he wakes earlier the normal, Hawke having tossed about in her sleep and whacked him across the face with a wayward arm.

He's a little annoyed, though it is less because of being woken and more because Hawke has sprawled across even more of the bed than normal. Adding in the dog, who still sleeps at their feet despite all his protests, Anders if left with a small sliver of space in which to lie.

At least he hasn't been shoved completely off of the bed. _That_ had happened before and had not been the most pleasant experience. Hawke had been rather apologetic after that.

He nudges her arm to the side, trying to reclaim enough space so that his left foot isn't hanging off the side of the bed. Hawke stirs, turns so that she is face down, and tries to burrow under her pillow.

“'s not morning yet,” she mumbles. “Go 'way.”

He knows from experience that she's probably far more awake than she's letting on – she's the sort to wake at the smallest noise, always expecting danger. At least she doesn't sleep with knives under her pillow; he expects that, if that were the case, sharing a bed with her would be more than a little dangerous.

“Move over a bit, sweetheart,” he says in a whisper. Hawke raises her head, long dark hair a tangled mess around her face.

“Oh,” she says, her voice hoarse from sleep, noticing just how much space she's taking up. “Why didn't you just push me over? I told you that you should, if I accidentally try to kick you out of bed.”

He reaches out and brushes strands of hair out of her eyes, letting a finger trace over the curve of her cheek. “I didn't want to risk getting  
_accidentally_ electrocuted if I tried.”

“That only happened _once_ ,” she says, pouting just a little. “And, to be fair, that was _right_ after you moved in -”

“-and your mabari was barking because he thought an intruder was in here with you, I know,” he finishes for her. She mock-glares at him and he smiles at her until her face softens. Then she leans over and presses a soft kiss to his mouth, butterfly soft, her hair falling over his shoulder to brush against his skin. He trails his fingers up her arm, traces them down her bare back, and she gives a little sigh of contentment.

“You leaving early again?” she asks him, pulling back a bit and looking at him.

“You know I have patients waiting,” he replies, and her sigh this time is a resigned one.

“I know. I just want you to stay longer one of these days.” She drops her head and curls up beside him, and he brings one arm around her to hold her closer, her skin dark against his.

“Do you have a lot to do today?” he asks her, because he's never certain. Some days she is out with Varric or Fenris, doing one errand or another, much of it ending in battles and bloodshed, and he is glad that he taught her how to heal years ago. Other days she deals with the nobles in the town, trying to further her influence.

She gives a small snort of annoyance. “I have to go get insulted by Seneschal Bran. _Again_. It will be _ever_ so fun.”

“Would you rather be facing down dragons?”

“Of _course_. Dragons are a _great_ deal more pleasant.”

“At least Bran doesn't breath fire,” he says with bit of a smirk.

“That's _hardly_ an improvement,” she says, then pokes him in the side. He jerks a bit.

“Stop that!”

“Make me.” She grins at him and pokes him again.

He catches her around the waist and pulls her on top of him, eliciting a small squeak from her that he silences with a kiss.

At their feet, her mabari exhales with a loud huffing sound.

“Right. Your dog is still here.” The kiss breaks and he makes a face that is far more annoyed than he really is. She giggles and pillows her head against his collarbone. “Stupid dog.”

“Don't call my dog stupid. You'll hurt his feelings and then you'll wake up on the floor with him sleeping in your space.” But he can almost hear the smile in her voice. There are a few minutes of silence where they lie against one another, him feeling her heart beat. “I'll come down to the clinic after lunch,” she finally says. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“I do have some food there, you know.” He gently combs his fingers through her hair.

“I know. But do you have _pie?_ ”

She knows him well enough to know his weakness for pie. “I'll have you know, I have an entire hidden room filled to the brim with pie. All sorts of pie, too.”

“Liar. I'll bring you some pie, if there's any at the market.”

He smiles. “You're far too good to me, sweetheart.”

“And don't you forget it.”

They lay there for a long time as the sun creeps up over the horizon, and he lets himself stay just a little longer than usual, arms wrapped around Hawke, feeling the soft thump of her heart against him.

It is a good morning.


End file.
